


Respect My Authority

by monchy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kurt has a problem with authority, and Wes thinks he needs some discipline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect My Authority

To say that Kurt’s introduction to The Warblers hasn’t been smooth would be the understatement of the century. Clearly, being outspoken and trying to be funny is not something that flies well with the blazer clad singing birds. Nor does trying to stand out in any way, if the looks he gets whenever he adorns the uniform with something are anything to go by. The first time Wes saw his hippo brooch, he looked at him as if he’d somehow offended the Dalton colors by putting something on his lapel.

Kurt, rebellious in nature and used to having to scream to be heard – and to scream over Rachel Berry, too, which is no small feat – is starting to wonder if he’s ever going to find a comfortable place among The Warblers. For now, he makes a point of staying true to himself, never mind the looks. In spite of that, when Wes calls him into the rehearsal room for a private chat he can’t help but be nervous: is he getting scolded? Or, dare he think it, expelled from The Warblers?

The sight that greets him is Wes, spine straight and gavel in hand, his expression stony and his lips set in a thin line.

“Close the door behind you, will you, Kurt?”

Kurt wonders if he should, the sight of Wes holding the gavel suddenly menacing. He shakes himself from his silly thoughts, and closes the door. 

“Kurt Warbler,” Wes starts once the door is closed, “it has come to the Council’s attention that you seem to lack a certain quality of commitment to our group.”

“What?” Kurt snaps almost immediately. “I assure you–”

“See? That right there, Kurt Warbler,” Wes interrupts him. He’s twirling the gavel between his fingers and Kurt can’t help looking at them, long and graceful in their movements. “It seems clear to me that you require some discipline.”

“Discipline?”

“Discipline,” Wes repeats. “So, if you would be so kind as to come here, Kurt Warbler.”

Kurt complies, subconsciously unaware that by referring to him as Kurt Warbler Wes is exerting some kind of silent power over him. When Kurt reaches the other boy, he doesn’t miss the gavel falling softly against Wes’ palm. Kurt shuffles on his feet, wonders why the atmosphere in the room feels so charged.

“Now Kurt, bend over,” Wes says, patting the wood of the Council desk.

“What?” Kurt’s flabbergasted. His eyes feel huge when they look at Wes, who looks back as if he’d asked him to borrow a pencil instead of to please bend over the table.

When Kurt doesn’t move immediately, Wes sighs, as if dealing with a naughty child.

“Must you question everything?” Wes asks, visibly aggravated. “As a member of the Council I’m asking you to please bend over the table.”

Kurt stares for a second at Wes’ features, the hard line of his lips and the determination of his eyes. Without a second thought, he complies, leaning his elbows on the table and lowering his torso, suddenly all too aware of the way his ass is being presented. When long, strong fingers stroke over that same ass, Kurt has to bite his lip to keep a squeal in. 

“Now drop your pants.”

Kurt opens his mouth, ready to protest, but goddammit, Wes is fondling his ass, and didn’t he have a girlfriend or something? Kurt feels suddenly dizzy, and as he tries to steady himself all he can think about is that stupid hand and its warmth as it presses softly against his covered skin.

“Kurt,” Wes says, warning in his tone. When Kurt still doesn’t move, he presses the gavel softly against his ass twice, making Kurt react. 

Kurt drops his pants, and his mind is reeling but it’s also letting go, because a member of the Council has asked this of him and how can he deny him? When his pants are on the floor, pooled around his ankles, Wes pulls his underwear down as well, and the cold hits Kurt’s ass all too suddenly.

“I think, Kurt Warbler,” Wes says, “for your lack of blending in, your use of crude jokes and your general rebelliousness… six will do.”

“My…” 

Crude jokes? Really? These guys wouldn’t survive a day at McKinley, Kurt thinks. But before he can think anymore, Wes’ hand descends on his uncovered ass, the strength behind it almost making him topple over, and Kurt hisses because what the hell?

“If you would be so kind as to count, Kurt Warbler.” Wes’ voice is steady, sure. 

Kurt… doesn’t know what to think, but finds himself muttering a soft one while Wes’ hands strokes over the skin he just abused. It had itched, but the skin is calming down now, and the sense of relief is somehow mixing with arousal and God.

Kurt is more prepared when the second one comes, hissing a loud two because Wes’ hand connects to the exact same spot again and his skin feels suddenly oversensitive. The next two follow quickly, landing on his other buttock and making Kurt gasp for air. Wes stops for a minute, takes the time to caress Kurt’s ass almost lovingly, as if admiring his own work. Kurt can only guess how red his skin is, with how easily he bruises.

By the time the fifth one comes, Kurt is so hard that he’s leaking precome and, good God, he doesn’t want to know what Wes will do if he manages to stain his precious rehearsing room. The shiver that goes through him is equal parts fear and arousal.

“Just one more,” Wes says behind him.

Kurt counts the sixth one with a mix of relief and disappointment, and can barely hold a mewl when Wes strokes over his skin with his deft, smart fingers. After a minute, Wes’ hands settle on his hips and force him to turn around, and Kurt goes pliantly, even when Wes presses his heated ass against the Council table.

“My, my Kurt Warbler,” Wes says, looking down at Kurt’s erection standing proud and leaking between them. “You weren’t supposed to enjoy this.”

Kurt would be ashamed, he would, except that Wes is reaching for him, wrapping that stupid pretty hand around his cock.

Kurt gasps, as manages to utter, “I’ve always had a problem with authority.”

“Clearly,” Wes says, his hand stroking hard and hot against him, faster the more elaborate Kurt’s breathing becomes. “I think we’re going to have to work on that, Kurt Warbler.”

Kurt nods, fast and erratic while curling his hands against the desk he’s leaning on, because God he’s so close, and Wes’ voice is a turn on all by itself. Why isn’t he the lead vocalist, again? Kurt’s pretty sure he could make the audience come with that low, sultry tone of his.

“Definitely,” Kurt agrees, willing his hips to stay put.

Wes strokes harder, his rhythm now steadily fast and unforgiving, clearly determined to bring Kurt to the edge. After a minute, Kurt’s hands shoot upwards and curl on Wes’ shoulders, grabbing the material of the blue blazer and wrinkling it between his fingers.

“At least,” Wes says, lips humid against Kurt’s ear, “I can see you’re willing to improve.”

“God, yes,” Kurt moans, his hips jutting forward with the strength of a sudden orgasm. He opens his mouth against Wes’ neck, breathing fast and loud while Wes strokes him through the pleasure. When Wes’ hand leaves him, Kurt slumps backwards against the desk.

Wes steps away from him, prim and proper even with his hand covered in Kurt’s come, and Kurt notices the lack of heat immediately, and whimpers. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the half smile curving Wes’ features. He watches as Wes cleans his hands while staying slumped and defeated against the Council’s desk, his pants around his ankles, his cheeks heated and his ass in the nicest kind of pain.

“I think that’s it for today, Kurt Warbler,” Wes says then, not looking at him. “I hope this is enough to deter you from further unsavory behavior.”

Kurt nods, slowly, and when Wes gives him a pointed look, he scrambles to pick up his clothes and make himself presentable. He does his best, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to be sporting the biggest blush of the universe when he leaves the room.

“See you,” he mutters on his way out, not waiting for an answer.

He runs down the hallways of Dalton, desperately craving a shower. He does it with giddy steps, though, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to have no problem feeling comfortable among the Warblers from now on.


End file.
